


I'll Be Seeing You

by SaoirseKennedy



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, During War, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Pining, So much angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Love, also post war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseKennedy/pseuds/SaoirseKennedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis Nixon joins the army, without friends, without hope, and without a life. He's hoping the Germans will blow him up.<br/>He doesn't expect to meet Richard Winters, nor does he expect the heartache that he brings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Seeing You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kunstvogel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunstvogel/gifts).



> based on a prompt from Celestial-annihilation where Lewis pines over Dick, who is already with someone! I hope you like it! Please forgive any grammar or spelling errors. 
> 
> Title taken from the Billie Holiday song I listened to non-stop while writing this.

1941

 

Lewis Nixon woke up one morning, still drunk from the previous night, and decided to join the army. His big estate was empty, stripped of the brief life he’d shared with Kathy, and he decided there was nothing there for him. Dark thoughts swirled in his mind, but he decided to spite the universe and keep living. For now at least. He sent a note to his sister, the only one he thought deserved to know, and hopped a train for the nearest military base. 

Nixon had no intention of making a scene at Fort Benning. When he got there, he got there alone; he hadn’t heard from Blanche or Kathy or his parents and he thought that seemed about right. Kathy and his parents were ignoring him, and Blanche was probably too upset or angry to speak to him quite yet. He had screwed up almost all of his relationships, and he wasn’t about to start making new ones here. 

So, no, Lewis Nixon III was not going to stick out here. He’d wake up with everyone, keep his head down in class, and keep to himself. The U.S. would join the war sooner or later. He knew the world, he knew the United States. It would only end in total war. Half of these boys would be dead in a couple of years, so what was the point of making friends? He’d signed up recklessly, half expecting not to come back, and he was completely okay with that. He hadn’t even planned what he would do if he survived. 

The first few weeks of OCS went by without incident. Lewis woke up at the crack of the universe everyday, ate the slop that passed as oatmeal, and listened carefully during strategy classes. He’d been friendly enough, but never invited himself to socialize, and after dinner he went back to his bunk to read or write. He missed partying, he missed having a group of friends to shoot the shit with, but he reminded himself that that wasn’t who he was anymore. He’d tried that life, having a wife, having friends, and he’d messed it all up. He couldn’t handle it. There was a little voice in the back of his head, telling him he was veering on the other side of unhealthy, but Lewis only ever did things in extremes. 

One morning, Lewis woke up to a soreness in his throat that could only mean he was getting sick. He coughed out the phlegm, and almost swore when he felt his nose stuff up. It was October, and the chill in the morning was starting to get to him. It was pitch black as he shuffled to the communal bathrooms, brushing his teeth and shaving with a precision, despite the grogginess he felt. 

The afternoon went on in a hellish fashion. Calisthenics made Lew’s nose pinch, and he tripped on a loose shoe string twice. His lunch was left untouched, a queasiness budding in his stomach that hadn’t been there when he gnawed on stale toast and eggs. By mid-afternoon classes, Lewis was sweating and shivering paradoxically, and his whole body was flushed pink. 

“You okay, Nixon?” Harry Welsh, an import from Pennsylvania claps him on the back on the way out of class, and Lewis thinks he’ll fall to the floor in dizziness. 

“I’m great, Harry,” he says, leaning against the wall by the classroom door. It was raining outside, and a cool breeze brushes Lew’s hot face through the open window. He thought he’d cry with relief. 

“Nix,” Harry says, real concern flashing across his eyes. He pulls Lew to the window, the breeze continuing to caress his face, along with a few stray raindrops that make their way through the screen. “You should go lay down.” 

Nixon rolls his eyes, which causes a headache to crop up in his forehead. “I don’t think there’s a sick-day policy in the US Army.” 

Welsh squints at him, mouth pursed. “You can’t go on like this, though. You’re gonna keel over,” Nix goes to retort, but two guys holler at Harry from down the hall. Harry turns and smiles. 

“Hey guys. Sorry, Nixon over here is transforming into Typhoid Mary,” he jabs a thumb over to where Nix is leaning heavily against the window, desperately seeking the cool wind. 

“Oh shut up,” Nix said, his voice going hoarse. He opens his eyes, staring at the men Harry was talking to. One has shorter with sandy brown hair; he has a grimace on his face, and was currently hopping from one foot to the other, like he was late for something. The other is a tall redhead, his face neutral as he observes Nixon. 

Welsh glances at his watch, biting his tongue. “Dick, could you make sure he gets back to his bunk? I’m late to call Kitty. She’s expecting me at five,” Nix’s eye were shut, but when he hears that, he slowly tries to slide away from them, using the wall as leverage. 

“Sure, Harry,” comes the response. The voice is a bit clipped, rough on the execution. Nix has only made it a few feet before he trips on his goddamn shoelace, and he goes sprawling, losing his hat and dignity in the process. 

Dick and Harry rush to where Nix is lying, and he hears Harry laughing. 

“No, no, leave me here,” the floor is cool against his cheek and his head can’t seem to find its equilibrium. 

“Charlie, come help us,” Dick calls to the other boy still standing by the window. Charlie sighs, but helps Nix to his feet. 

“Alright, I got it,” Dick nods at the other two, and Charlie is out of the hall in a blink. Harry lingers, but checks his watch again. 

“You know, ‘it’ has a name,” Nix mumbles, leaning against the wall again. 

“Is he always like this?” Dick asks Harry. 

Nixon knows Harry doesn’t know if he’s always like this. True to his word, he barely talks to anyone. He only sees Harry in class or during training. Nixon excels in class, and Welsh thrives in drills. They help each out in their weak areas, but otherwise Nixon leaves him to blabber on about Kitty Grogan to some of the other guys. 

“Always,” Harry said anyways, in an act of loyalty Nixon doesn’t deserve. 

“Great,” Dick says, and Lewis can’t figure out if he’s being sarcastic or not. Dick smiles though, nodding at Harry again. 

“Okay, feel better Nixon!” Harry says, running out into the rain, off to phone Kitty. Lewis doesn’t comment on his eagerness to phone a girl who could leave him at any moment. He would blame it on being sick, but really he doesn’t want to crush Harry’s spirits, especially after Harry scraped him off the floor. 

Dick and Nix stand by each other for a second, Nix with his eyes closed, Dick peering at him curiously. Nixon has seen the redhead around, and sometimes he’s in Dick’s squad when he’s leading calisthenics. He’s a hard worker, a leader, so naturally Lewis had steered clear. 

“Can you walk?” Dick asks. 

Nixon is indignant at that. He pushes off the wall, opening his eyes wide. Dick’s eyes are very blue and Nixon only notices this when he’s supposed to be concentrating on not falling. He’s tottering to the door when Dick stops him. 

“Look, I’m not an invalid,” he says rather harshly. 

“I’m getting an umbrella,” Dick yanks Lewis to the side, pulling out a wood handled umbrella from his backpack. 

“I didn’t know we got umbrellas.”

Dick’s mouth twitches. “We don’t,” he opens the heavy door, lifting the umbrella over Nixon, and they shuffle under it, back to the barracks, which seem a thousand miles away to Lewis. 

“I may throw up on you,” Nixon grits out. 

“Thanks for the warning,” Dick raises his eyebrows at Nixon. 

Nixon thinks about the umbrella, thinking that if he hadn’t exiled himself in the wasteland of the army, he’d be interested in hanging around Dick. There’s a little bit more there than meets the eye. But Nixon clamps down on that thought, and focuses on not throwing up his stomach. 

He makes it back just in time to plop his head into the toilet. It’s only toast and stomach bile, but it burns his eyes. Dry heaves soon replace the actual vomiting, and Lewis almost wishes his heart would give out. 

After a few minutes, Dick finds him in the bathroom. His wretches echo off the walls, and Lew is sure it smells like a rotting corpse. Luckily he can’t smell it with his clogged nose. 

“Do you need me to go get someone?” to Lew’s surprise, Dick runs a washcloth under cold water, and brings it to Lew’s forehead. It feels good, but he shudders, bringing on a wave of chills. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” Lewis says to the toilet bowl. 

Dick hands him a glass of water, his mouth upturned slightly. 

Lewis gulps the water down, knowing he’ll probably throw it up in a minute. 

“What?” he says at Dick’s smile. 

“Nothing,” but Dick is laughing now. 

“Well cut it out,” Nix says before he retches up the water, as if on cue. 

“It’s just,” Dick helps Nix sit back when he’s done. “It’s funny that you think you’re fine,” Nixon thinks that that statement cuts a little too close to the bone, but he’s too tired to really register the wounds that flare up inside him. 

Dick doesn’t seem to have a problem getting up close and personal with a soldier he’s never met. He strips Nix of his damp jacket, and helps tugs off his clunky boots. Nixon has stopped heaving long enough to succumb to exhaustion and chills running up and down his back.

He’s almost forgotten that Dick is there when he feels a hand on his forehead. He’s on his back in his bunk in the still abandoned hall where all of E Company sleeps.

“You’re burning up,” Dick says, as if saying that the sky is blue. 

“Mmmmmm,” Lew says in agreement. 

“Here, keep this on your face, and try to get some sleep,” Dick hands over an ice pack. Where he’s gotten it, Lewis has no idea. 

“Thanks,” Nix takes it gratefully. Dick stays there, perched over Lew’s bed. Nixon is swimming in his own head, but can feel Dick watching over him. “You don’t have to watch me. I think I’ll be okay now.”

Dick’s head tilts subtly, and Lewis thinks maybe he see’s a spark of hurt, or maybe surprise at Nix’s words. 

“Alright,” he nods at Lewis. “Feel better.” 

“Dick?” Lewis says as Dick is headed to the door. 

“Yeah?” Lewis tries not to notice how fast he turns around. 

“Thanks for not leaving me in the bathroom. I might’ve stayed there all night if you weren’t here,” he grates his teeth, feeling that now he and Dick are friends. Although his brain tells him not to get too close, he feels a warmness in his chest when he sees Dick smile. 

“Of course,” Dick says. “Don’t be a stranger,” he calls over his shoulder as he slides out the door. 

Nix sighs, trying to quell the shivers that shake him. He turns over to his side, pouting about his new friend. 

 

It’s scary how fast Dick and Nix become best friends. When Lew is done dying of the plague, he starts noticing Dick everywhere. One day Dick decides to sit next to Nix during a lesson, saying nothing as he puts his notebook on the table, taking the seat next to him. Lew doesn’t say anything either.

Instead of reading while he ate, he now had Dick, Harry, Charlie, and a guy from D Company named Ron at his table. Lewis couldn’t help his personality, and usually regaled the table with stories from New York and Yale. Both Harry and Dick were from Pennsylvania, it turned out, Charlie was from Detroit, and Ron was from Boston, but he was born in Scotland. They were all friendly, and Lewis almost hated them for it. Didn’t they see what Lewis was trying to do? At the beginning of every meal, he always kept his head down, trying not to get lured into conversation. It never worked. 

Then Dick would find him at random times, when there were holes in their schedules. Dick was relatively quiet, but he always said hello with a quick smile, and Nix was helpless. He noticed Dick probably more than he should; he admired the straight line his back made when he was at attention, and the sturdy ridge of his shoulders in the Georgia sunlight. His eyes weren’t a bright blue, but they were deep and changeable. If he wore his dark dress uniform, they would become endless depths of ocean blue, and if he had his white undershirt showing, they would crack to a light blue, like ice. 

Lewis knew the feeling flickering in his stomach, he’d known it since childhood, and it felt like just another black mark against him. What’s worse, was that he was powerless to stop it. Everytime he saw Dick on the horizon he felt a knot under his ribs loosen, and a tug on his heart tighten. He felt shame and elation all at once. 

Sometimes he would brush Dick off, say he wasn’t feeling well or that he had somewhere to be, and promptly run off to find a drink or hide behind the shed that held all of their bikes and weights. 

When they arrived at Toccoa, it only got worse. Nix was properly smitten with Dick, the redhead from Lancaster. When he woke up in the morning he looked for Dick, when he got out of class he ate lunch with Dick, and when he’d leave base on the weekends, he practically begged Dick to go with him. Of course Dick always said no, in that low amused voice of his, and that was really half the reason Nix asked. 

Nix was almost openly affectionate to Dick, and Dick reciprocated in softer tones, sometimes so subtle that Lewis thought he had made it up. Most of the time Lewis could convince himself that it  _ was _ all fiction.  

And the days kept coming, with Lewis and Dick circling each other, laughing and bantering. Nixon had managed to wrangle a couple more friends, but he still tried to keep to himself. Now it was more of a punishment than a need, and if Dick noticed, he only trained his eyes on Lew for a few moments too long every once in awhile in silent concern. 

Because Nixon did everything in extremes, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep feelings under the rug forever. He had to say something, anything, before they went to England, before they died. Lewis still believed he would die. He could feel it in his bones. So, Hell, why would it matter if he said something to Dick? He was almost positive Dick wouldn’t rat on him, since Lew was a valuable asset to the company. 

When it happened, when Lewis made his move, he should’ve known that fate would screw him over. 

He had practiced his speech in the mirror, expecting nothing but gentle rejection, and had a bottle of the Vat in his own foot locker for the inevitable sting of loneliness that night. 

He knew Dick would be at HQ, pouring over maps of northern France, trying to get an elementary grip of map reading before the jump. He imagined Dick sitting there alone, his hair set aflame by the low lighting. Lew stirred at that thought on his way over. He took a shot before leaving, but thought no one would judge him given his current situation. 

The room was dark, but Lewis burst in anyways, his smile arranging itself on his face before he could think about it. At first he thought he’d missed Dick, miscalculated his plans, but then he heard something from the corner of the room, just behind the bookshelf. 

There was shuffling, a muffled sigh, and Lewis already knew what was happening. He went flush, and his heart hammered a heartbreaking rhythm. In the corner, someone was kissing Dick, pushing him into the wall, clasping his hand tightly. It was vulgar or obscene and Lewis couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was sweet and mild, and Nix felt his heart shoot up to his throat. 

To be cruel, the universe had Dick open his eyes then, and of course Lewis was still standing there, fists clenched, eyes watery, and mouth set in a painful frown. Realization set into Lewis then, and his eyes got big, and he got weak, letting tears form. The heartbreak hit him with surprising force, and he had to force himself to start backing out of the room. The other man was oblivious, and had gone to work on Dick’s neck. 

Lewis accepted the swell of grief, a familiar feeling by now, and held up his hands to Dick, trying to show him that he wasn’t a threat.

“It’s okay,” he mouthed, even though it really, really wasn’t. Dick’s face was unreadable, but Nix didn’t stay long enough to decipher it. It took everything he had not to sprint out of the room. 

 

Nixon didn’t cry, or throw anything, or yell. He only took out his bottle of Vat and drank as fast as he could. He wanted to be thoroughly smashed by the time Dick made it back to the room. If he made it back. Only now did he regret bunking with Dick. Hopefully they’d be shipped to England sooner than later, and Nix could impose himself to another exile. 

When he began to become dizzy, he almost felt better. He wandered around camp for a while, being careful to look for Sobel or Sink. His years of college drinking helped him keep his composure, and he looped the perimeter twice. 

He wouldn’t unpack his feelings, or dwell on the familiar pang of rejection in his stomach. He wouldn’t drag up memories of abandonment from his childhood, or the many lectures he received from his father. No, Nixon couldn’t mix those feelings with these feelings. He wouldn’t unpack his emotions, but he certainly would feel them. 

It was sad and woozy, and he knew he was crying through his misty layer of intoxication, though he buried his head in his pillow, hoping to keep it a secret. 

His watch read 12:02 when Dick strolled in. Most of the boys were still out, gone from base on the weekend, so Dick and Nix’s building was all but empty. 

Dick shuffled around, washing his face and changing out of his clothes. Lewis moved to completely dry his eyes, but jumped when Dick tapped him on the shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, hovering over Lewis, his hand on his shoulder. “I know you were sleeping, I just--” 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Nix says loudly. He knows his eyes are red and puffy, but he’s hoping Dick will just think he’s drunk. It’s convenient, because Nix actually is. 

Dick knits his eyebrows together, and Nixon gulps, thinking he sees irritation. He’s still too hurt to soften his gaze though, and he braces himself. 

“You saw me and Frank together,” Dick says plainly. 

“Is that his name?” Nixon rolls over, jumping headfirst into his heartbreak. 

“Yeah,” Dick peers at him. “It was the first time it happened,” he sounds like he’s trying to excuse something, rationalize it away. 

“It’s fine, Dick,” he says, defeated. He notices his words slurring a bit, but for the most part he’s lucid. 

Dick pauses and Nix waits patiently. “You don’t care? That I’m-I’m,” he doesn’t finish. 

“With a man?” Nixon says, still passive. “Not at all.” 

“I mean--,” Dick starts. 

“I know, it’s surprising, coming from a Catholic,” Nixon snorts. He cut off Dick mostly because he was afraid of what he would say. He put in a little self-deprecation so maybe Dick will think he’s acting normally. 

“Nix,” Dick sits on Lew’s bed, and it hurts, now that Lew knows what he does. 

“Yeah?” 

“If you were upset about it, upset at me about it,” he rushes when he sees Nix try to cut him off again. “Upset at me about anything, you’d tell me right?”

Nixon wasn’t expecting that, and it gives him pause. He’s become more than faithful to Dick in the past year, and Dick probably knows him a lot better than he’d admit, but there have been plenty of times he’s been upset and kept it to himself. Countless times he’s stolen away, overcome with pain from the past, overcome with the uselessness of himself. And he’s come back, smiling and laughing, and Dick has never known the difference. 

Dick is looking at him, almost reverently, pleadingly. Nixon blinks, trying to find the smile he musters for Dick when he’s not himself. 

“Of course, Dick. You’re my best friend,” he doesn’t sound nearly like he should. He thinks he’d be able to hear his own heart breaking, if it wasn’t already tattered from years of misuse. 

Dick looks like he’s going to argue, and then his face goes blank. Nixon wonders if he’s in love with Frank. He’d never tell Nix. Nixon wouldn’t want to hear it anyways. 

“Okay,” he says at last. 

Nixon turns away from Dick and doesn’t look at him the rest of the night. He doesn’t say anything to him for the next two days, so Dick knows something is wrong, but Lewis is still too raw to care. It’s another sin Lew needs to make up for. He thinks of how worn down his rosary beads will be when he’s done repenting. 

 

When they get to England, they’re more or less attached at the hip again. Lewis has taken to drinking more, and more than once he’s gone home with a nice English lad or lass, stumbling back to base before the morning bell on Monday mornings. Dick is always with him, his loyalty unwavering despite Lew’s sometimes flaky behavior. Lewis tried not to notice when Dick went away for a few hours with Frank. He tried not to notice when Dick smelled just a little bit different. Frank was a good guy too, which made it worse. He was a nice Italian guy from Philly. He was taller than Dick, and he had an easy manner about him. Unlike Lewis, he was never moody or dark. Lewis had to admit he really liked him, even if he did feeling budding resentment whenever he was around. 

It wasn’t like Lewis even had anything to be angry about. Dick had no idea how Lew felt, and neither did Frank. They had the nerve to be together even when the entire world condemned them. They could be killed for this. Dick didn’t even seem ashamed. He carried himself with dignity, and he was only worried about Lew being upset because he wanted to stay friends. 

Lewis didn’t have a lot of time to think about his aching heart, and he was grateful. Soon they’d invade Europe, and, as planned, Lew would be buried there. He was busy with plans and maps and drop zones, while Dick was busy training his men from dawn until dusk. They saw each other at mealtimes and late at night, and never in between. Lew missed him like crazy, missed him just as a best friend. When he turned around he expected Dick to be crowding his space, but more often than not, he was just looking at shadows. 

“Shoulda been born earlier Nix,” Dick says the day before the jump. 

“What, and miss all of this?” Nixon says around a cigarette. It’s a typical Nixon comment, how he’s supposed to sound. 

He tells Dick he’ll take him to Chicago. He says it happily, like he’s making up a dream that’ll never happen. It captures Dick’s attention and that’s all he’s really after. Maybe, years from now, Frank will take him to Chicago. Maybe they’ll go see the Sears Tower, take the L train, or visit Lake Michigan. He hopes Dick will laugh in the Chicago air, and, wherever he’s buried, Lew hopes he will be able to hear it. 

Right before they board the planes, Lewis sees Dick grip Frank’s hand briefly. Nixon swallows and hops in his plane, his blood racing in his ears. 

 

D-Day tears him a new one. He was dropped so far away from his drop zone he thought he’d landed in the South of France. He thought he’d been caught by the Germans so many times he stopped caring. It was dawn by the time he saw friendly faces. 

He was exhausted and jumpy by the time he found a tank to hop a ride on. 

And then he saw Dick. 

He had grease smeared on his face, his eyes were bloodshot, and he looked harried, but Lew’s heart clenched at the sight of him. When he was wandering the fields of France, he thought of Dick’s eyes, hoping against reality that he was safe somewhere, away from gunfire. 

“Going my way?” he yells. 

“Sure!” Dick shouts back, grinning up at Nix. 

 

They go through Carentan, and Dick gets dinged by a stray bullet. Nixon hovers outside the hospital when he hears Dick is there. He bites his lip until it splits, and then rolls his eyes at his stupidity. 

Dick often wears himself out, and when they find a comfortable foxhole, he lolls with his head on Lew’s shoulder for a few hours. Holland is quiet and it makes Lewis edgy. He decides that he wants to live through the war, only to keep Dick alive. After that, it doesn’t matter. 

One night, with his head on Lewis’ shoulder, Dick looks up at him. “Do you miss Kathy?” 

Lewis had only mentioned her a few times, and not in a friendly way, so he gives Dick a quizzical gaze. “No,” he says. 

“What about those girls in England?” so Dick was paying attention to his habits in Upottery. He wonders if he saw him with the English soldiers too. 

Nixon squirms. “Not really, Dick,” he snaps. 

Dick pulls his head up. “Why not?” he looks genuinely confused. 

“It just wasn’t anything special.” 

“I understand that,” he says, dropping his head back onto Lew’s shoulder. 

“Do you?” Lewis knows he shouldn’t ask, but he does anyways. “Don’t you feel that way about Frank?” 

Dick fidgets a little bit. Lewis thinks he’s gonna shove him off. “I don’t know,” Dick sighs. He’s showing a vulnerability that he rarely shows, not because he doesn’t trust Lew, but because he’s a captain in the war, and it’s not good for business. 

“He’s a good guy,” is all Nix says. 

“Yeah,” Dick says. They’ve stumbled out of sync with each other, and Lewis gets irrationally irritated. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Dick,” he says much too loudly. “Love doesn’t last,” it’s a little morbid, even for Lewis. 

“Oh, Lewis,” Dick says, looking up. He looks young and a little sad. Most of all, he looks understanding. Lewis hates it. 

“I’m sorry,” he looks away. “I don’t have the greatest track record, alright?”

“You only need one,” Dick says, as if that clears everything up. 

“Yeah, you need ‘the one’,” he says. “Not just anyone.” 

Inexplicably, Dick pulls at Nix’s hand. The rosary around Nix’s wrist jangles, and Dick rubs his fingers on the small beads. The moment slows down, and Dick’s hand is dirty and sweaty. Lewis feels his face heat up. 

“It’s going to be okay, Lew,” Dick whispers, tucking the rosary into his sleeve and putting his hand down. 

 

The night Lewis almost dies, Dick comes to his room late at night, his face red and blotchy. 

Lewis is still in shock, rubbing the red burn mark on his forehead, sitting on his bed when Dick swings the door open. 

“Dick?” Nixon stands up. Dick isn’t showing much, but his hands are clenching, he’s tapping his foot, and he won’t look at Lewis. 

“Nix,” he says. 

“Hey,” Nixon puts his hands on Dick’s shoulders. “What happened?” 

Dick rushes into his arms, hugging him tightly for a long minute. Nix doesn’t think about it, and puts his hand on the back of Dick’s head, which is fixed in the crook of his shoulder. Dick doesn’t make a sound, and Lewis rocks them back and forth just a little bit. 

When he pulls back, Dick’s face is calmer than when he walked in. “Don’t almost die again, okay?” 

It’s too sweet for Lew to bear, so he pulls Dick back to him for a fleeting moment, breathing deeply before looking at him again. 

“I won’t almost die again,” Lew knows he’ll go through the rest of the war without a scratch, or he’ll be shot by a sniper before he even knows what hit him. 

Dick rubs his hands up and down Lew’s arms, smiling outright, nodding. Before Lewis can ask him to stay, like he often does, Dick is out the door again, down the stairs and into the street. 

Lewis looks out the window to see Dick and Frank walking back to Dick’s room in the house across the street. 

That night, Lewis ends up passed out on the floor, his helmet in his hand. 

 

Bastogne is a blur of ice and blood to Nix. Every morning he wakes up to Dick tapping on his shoulder, and he spends the day shivering and coughing. He has to sit back and watch good men get blown to pieces. There’s no alcohol in the whole godforsaken forest, and most of the time all he wants to do is pull Dick into his safe foxhole. As it is, Nix spends a lot of time praying to a God he only half believes in. 

 

When they reach Landsberg, Lewis is coming apart fully. After they force the Germans to bury the dead, Lewis is wishing he was among them. Everyone is going mad, he’s convinced of it. He sees drunk soldiers all the time, and most of the rooms in the stately German homes they find have been ransacked. Lewis is drunk most of the time, or buzzed, or hungover. Dick is distracted, and doesn’t come around as much anymore. Lewis bitterly thinks about Dick and Frank lounging together, comforting each other in the hell that is Germany. He wonders if they write each other love letters, if they’ve given each other their dog tags, and it eats him up inside. He reminds himself that he deserves this, he deserves to be alone, especially because of the poor showing he’s given in the army, especially in the past couple of months. 

Nixon completely shuts down. He plays cards with the boys, a sour look on his face, and drinks anything he can find. He can’t remember the last time he actually had a conversation with Dick. 

One day he runs into Frank at the post office. His sister sent him a postcard from Boston, and he decided to reply with a short letter, but he can’t remember what he’s written. 

“Captain Nixon,” Frank nods. He seems amiable, and there’s no reason he shouldn’t be. Nix has always been friendly in the rare times he’s run into Frank. 

“Sergeant,” Nix gives his letter to the clerk on duty. Before he can think, he continues the conversation. “You seen Major Winters around lately?” 

Frank tightens a bit, and Nix notices it right away. “No, sir. I haven’t seen him in a while,” he could mean he hasn’t seen him in a few hours, or it could’ve been a few weeks. “I would think you’d know better than me,” something in the way he says it makes Nix redden. 

“Well, thanks anyways Frank,” Nix gives him a more generous smile. 

 

“Knock knock,” Lewis says, finding Dick in his makeshift office. Dick is typing, his clunky fingers banging away in the quiet room. 

“Lew,” Dick says, almost surprised. 

“I know, I’m alive,” he says, laughing, although the look on Dick’s face says he doesn’t find it funny at all. 

“What’s up?” he says, going back to typing. 

“What are you gonna do when this is all over?” Nix needs to know suddenly. 

Dick looks up. “Nix?”

“Are you gonna go back to school? Go back to Lancaster? Get married?” he says the last one on purpose, trying to get a reaction. 

It works. “No, none of that,” he pauses. “Maybe I’ll go back to school.”

“Do you want a job?” Nix jumps the gun. 

“You’re kind of freaking me out,” Dick says. “You have too much coffee or something?” 

“No, no. It’s just, if you need a job to get you on your feet, I think I have one,” Nix fidgets. 

“Where?” Dick says. 

“Nixon Nitration Works,” Nix says. “I know the owners,” he smirks. 

Dick has a weird look on his face. “Yeah. I’ll think about it,” he looks hopeful. 

And Nix just has to ask what he’s really thinking. “What about Frank?” 

“What about him?” Dick says without looking up. 

“Well, are you two gonna, you know, get together Stateside?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he says sourly. 

For some reason the news doesn’t make Lew as happy as it should. He feels wobbly instead, and he goes to grab a glass of water. His hand shakes and the glass shatters on the floor. He stands over the glass, not seeing the mess. 

“Lew?” Dick has stood up, but Lew’s back is turned to Dick. 

And it’s so stupid. His dumb hands that shake because he hasn’t had a drink in a while, that shake because they don’t want a drink, they want to hold Dick, that shake because he can’t stand himself anymore. 

Everything is so stupid, Lewis is stupid, and he wishes he would’ve just gotten shot. Hell he wishes he would’ve shot himself before joining the stupid army, so he wouldn’t have had to meet Dick. 

“Shit,” he says. “I’m sorry about your glass,” he bends down right onto a piece of glass. He yelps, and then he’s angry. 

He jumps up, kicking the broken fragments. He feels a warm wetness in his knee, and he doesn’t care. He feels like he’ll start sobbing and he wants to pitch himself down the stairs. 

“Lewis,” Dick rushes to him, his hands gripping at his shoulders. 

“I didn’t mean to break it,” Lew almost shouts. He bends down again to pick up the pieces. He’s clumsy about it, and they drop on the floor again. 

“Hey,” Dick pulls him up. “Hey, it’s just a glass.” 

To say that the glass is a metaphor for his life would be pretty ham-fisted, and besides, the lump in Lew’s throat is too big for him to say anything. 

Dick sits him down in the desk chair. He kneels in front of him inspecting his knee. 

“Lew you’ve got glass in your knee,” he rolls up his pant leg, and prods a bit. 

Dick gets up to walk away, and Lew follows, but Dick shoots him a glance.

“Stay there,” Dick points to the chair. 

Dick dutifully and gently picks all the glass out of Nix’s knee. He cleans it and puts a small bandage on it. Lewis sits in silence, trying not to glance at Dick’s red, red hair. 

When Dick picks up Lew’s hands, Lewis feels like he’s been burned. “What’s wrong Lew?” he’s got that same look on his face when he asked Lew if he was upset about Frank. 

“Dick,” he says, in agony. 

Dick grips Lewis’ hands hard, and it’s enough for Lewis to shudder. 

Fuck it. 

“I’m glad you’re not with Frank,” he blurts. 

“You are?” Dick peers at him, painfully confused. 

“Dick,” Lewis groans, exasperated. “How could you not see it?” 

“That’s awfully vague, Nix,” Dick tries for a smile. 

“I’m in love with you, okay Dick?” he’s in too deep now. “Have been for while. Probably this whole damn war,” 

Dick backs away a bit, shocked. 

“I was coming to tell you, when I saw you with Frank and I just,” he sighs. “I didn’t want to get in the way. I hated it, Dick. But I couldn’t not be around you. I tried not to make friends, not to get close to anyone. I’m not a good guy, and you deserve so much more, but for some reason, you stuck by me, and I couldn’t help myself. Most of the time I hate myself but--,”

“Stop it,” Dick has an almost angry look on his face. “You’re a great soldier-” Nix snorts. “A great friend, Lew!” 

“When I came to the army, I had no friends, practically no family. Why do you think that is?” it was all pouring out of Lewis now. “I don’t know why I didn’t just end it before I came. Then you wouldn’t have had to get tangled up with me. Guess I thought a war would take care of it!” 

Dick is silent. He looks immensely troubled. Lewis wishes he hadn’t said anything, he wishes Dick didn’t look so awful.

“Look, Dick, don’t worry about it. You can’t change it, it’s not because of you--” 

“I can sure as hell try,” Dick cuts him off. It’s the first time in a long time that Lewis has heard him curse, and he stops. 

Dick strides up to Lewis, suddenly sure of himself. “What the hell did they do to you?” Lewis assumes he’s talking about his family, and that’s a rabbit hole he can’t go down just now. 

“A lot of things Dick,” he scrubs a hand down his face. “Really I think it’s impressive I’ve made it this far.” 

“Don’t say that,” Dick whispers. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Lew is sullen. 

Dick pulls Lewis to the bed, and his hands wander over his face and shoulders and back. Lewis is very confused, and hurt, and wants to pull away. 

“Frank is a nice guy,” he starts. “I really liked him, and for a long time I thought we were gonna fall in love. In a real way,” he’s looking expectantly at Lew. 

“Come on Dick, I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Just listen.”

“Fine.” 

“I kept waiting to fall in love with him. I felt like I already was. I felt lovesick, but not on Frank.” 

Lewis tries to vanquish the hope in his chest. “Okay,” he breathes. 

“I was already in love, Lew,” Dick says simply. “With you.” 

Lew can’t breathe. Dick is staring at him, simply and beautifully. 

“Don’t tease me,” he says in a first reaction. 

“What?” Dick’s face falls. “I’m not. I wouldn’t do that.”

That’s the thing; Nix knows Dick wouldn’t, but the thought still creeps into his head. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. 

“Are you sure?”  _ are you sure you’re in love with me? Me? Are you sure?  _

“Yes,” Dick throws his hands up. “Of course,” to prove his point he leans into Nix, his mouth coming dangerously close to Nix’s. Nix swerves out of the way. 

When Dick quirks his head, Lew explains. “I don’t want you to regret it.”

“Stop,” Dick says, and kisses Lewis slowly. 

It’s warm and tender and everything Nix has ever wanted. Dick presses him into the bed, and for the first time in a long long time, Nix feels in control, and safe. 

“Lew,” Dick almost mewls. He grabs Lew’s hand and smiles. “I think it’s safe to say I want to take you up on that job offer.” 

Lewis bites his tongue, swallowing the self-hatred and doubt that bubbles to the surface. He holds Dick to him, breathing deeply. He holds onto this moment, remembering it for later. 

“And Lew?” Dick grips the back of Lew’s head.  

“Yeah?”

“If you’re ever upset,” he almost glares at Lew. “Tell me.” 

Nix nods. “Okay.” 

 

New York City-1948

 

Lewis hears music pouring out of the kitchen when he gets home. It’s been a long day, but he smells something cooking and an Italian crooner sings about love through the radio. 

“Dick?” he peers into the kitchen, looking at the redhead bent over a pot of pasta sauce. 

“Hey,” Dick laughs, sauce on his chin. “Happy anniversary!” 

“We have an anniversary?” Lewis puts down his bag, his heart melting at the sight of Dick. 

“Yes! I finally figured it out. I had to go look at my war diary. I wrote the date we got together down,” he looks so pleased with himself. 

“You wrote that in your diary?” Lewis comes over to smell the food. “That’s dangerous,” he smirks. 

“Shhh, try the sauce,” he holds up a spoonful. 

“Needs garlic,” Lew says after a moment. 

They have spaghetti and garlic bread, and Frank Sinatra plays steadily all night. Dick peppers kisses on his jaw and neck throughout the night, and Lewis tries very hard not to get sentimental. 

When Dick asks him to dance, Lew can’t keep his hands off of him. He sings gently in his ear, and Dick is a soppy mess. 

Before they go to sleep, Dick leans over, kissing his cheek. “Lewis?”

Nixon opens his eyes. “Yeah?” 

“You’re doing okay, right?” Dick looks very serious. 

Lewis thinks about it. There are still some days he wishes everything would go blank. There are some days he still runs away from Dick, hiding puffy eyes and sore knuckles. But those days are getting rarer and rarer, and Lewis is in a beautiful city, with a beautiful boy. 

“Yeah, Dick,” he smiles. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” 


End file.
